


Another Day

by tartanfics



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: Bisexual Character, Euphemistic Sleeping Together, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Femslash, Fingerfucking, First Time, Literal Sleeping Together, Morning Sex, Oral Sex, Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-25
Updated: 2015-01-25
Packaged: 2018-03-08 23:47:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3228053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tartanfics/pseuds/tartanfics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Angie rubs her nose against Peggy's bare shoulder, half under the blanket. "Glad I got you to move in here, Peg. Can't break curfew if we're not leaving the building."</p><p>Something about the way she says it makes heat fill up Peggy's chest under her collarbone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Another Day

**Author's Note:**

> First outing in a new fandom. \o/
> 
> Spoilers for episode 1.3.

Peggy wakes in stages: air cool on her face, eyes closed, her body under the blankets warm, the body next to her warm. Eyes open.

It's early morning. Dim light slides in through the half-open curtains. On the table in front of her bed there's a bottle of peach schnapps empty but for a sticky layer at the bottom. As she blinks awake Peggy remembers rinsing off the pie plate and the glasses, drunk-clumsy. There are still crumbs, and a pile of hairpins. Her own and Angie's are indistinguishable. 

Behind her in the bed, Angie stirs.

Last night: Angie sleepy, drunk, relaxed. Angie curling up in her dark blue and pale orange pajama set on Peggy's pink bedspread. Peggy's desire for comfort after the day she had. The realness, the presence, the normalcy of crawling under the covers with her drunk friend. It feels like an antidote to the wartime suddenness of Krzeminski's death. 

Peggy shifts onto her back, listening to herself breathe.

"Peg?" Angie lifts her head. Curls spill across her face and Peggy's shoulder.

"Here," Peggy murmurs. She should probably get up. Put on her clothes, her lipstick, put up her hair, put on a hat. Gun in her purse, secrets in her head. Another day at the phone company. She looks at the clock on the desk. No, it's still early. Not even time for breakfast.

Angie stretches out her legs, her knees knocking against Peggy's. Both are bare--Angie's pajamas and Peggy's nightgown have ridden up. "You have to work today, English?"

"Yes. You?" 

Angie rubs her nose against Peggy's bare shoulder, half under the blanket. "Later, yeah." Silence, soft and still. "Glad I got you to move in here, Peg. Can't break curfew if we're not leaving the building."

Something about the way she says it makes heat fill up Peggy's chest under her collarbone. "Thank you for providing the schnapps and the pie," she says. "And the company."

"Any time." Angie wraps her arm around Peggy's waist and squeezes. Then she asks, breaking the morning stillness: "You ever feel up a girl?"

" _What_?" 

"Just asking. I never have, but we're in bed together and boy wouldn't it be more convenient than 'no men above the first floor.'" 

Peggy starts laughing, curling into Angie's body and their tangled legs. "Is that the only reason you're asking? Convenience?"

Angie's caught the laughter. Through it she says, "No! God, Peg, look at you. What are you wearing? Did I miss you getting changed last night?"

Angie had put her pajamas on when she went to get the schnapps. Peggy had taken off her shoes and her jacket and spent the evening in the skirt and blouse she'd been wearing all day, unable to work up the momentum to change into something less lived-in. But sleep--the idea of sleeping in the blouse one of the telephone girls had cried on in the ladies' toilet was unbearable. So those clothes are draped over her desk chair: skirt and blouse, slip and bra, garter belt and silk stockings. Buttons and hooks seemed to take a long time. She was in Angie's line of sight but Angie was curled on the bed with her eyes half-closed. Peggy remembers opening the closet mostly naked and rummaging around, finding the sleeveless blue nightgown with the long skirt that always makes her feel: the war is over. But in a good way.

Angie's admiration, her disappointment over missing Peggy's brief nudity, endows the whole memory with a sexiness it didn't have at the time. 

"Yes, apparently you did." 

Angie lifts her head and sticks out her lower lip. "I'm sure sorry I missed that. A fine English lady like you getting naked in company."

Peggy laughs. She hadn't thought anything of it at the time, despite the fact--well, Peggy _has_ had physical relationships with women. More than once at school, once more seriously at university. One heated night in Madrid in 1938 with an incredibly tall and self-assured foreign correspondent. She likes women, especially in a world where men like Steve Rogers die. And she likes Angie. Worries about her already.

Her laughter quiets, the stillness of the morning reasserts itself, and doesn't quite break when Peggy says, "Yes."

"Yes, what?"

Peggy tilts her head down until she can meet Angie's eyes, close and wide and multicoloured. "Yes, I have 'felt up a girl.' Was that a rhetorical question or an implicit suggestion?"

"Suggestion," Angie says, breathless. 

Peggy pauses, looks conscientiously over her shoulder at the clock, and thinks: _I want this. I could do without, but why?_. There's time. She feels a smile tripping around the corners of her mouth. She turns back to Angie. Angie's arm is still wrapped around her waist; she mirrors it. Digs her fingers lightly into Angie's spine. "What, exactly, are you suggesting? Because I'm happy to kiss you until breakfast, or--"

Angie's mouth tilts, a bright wry smile. "You're not gonna knock me up, Peg, might as well go all the way."

Peggy takes an open-mouthed breath and pulls back, looking across the pillow at Angie's whole face at once. Peggy can feel herself smiling, probably too tentative for her liking. But it's intimidating, the idea of doing something like this with someone who can't be told what Peggy did in the war. She shared a room and a bed with a girl who thought she worked at a phone company for months with only minor discomfort--this is different. But there's no way out of it other than choosing not to have it, so she slides forward and fits her mouth to Angie's mouth.

It's been a long while since Peggy kissed anyone and her last go at it was not like this. Angie is a confident kisser. She places her mouth where she means it to be and she breathes deliberately, hotly, so Peggy swallows the air. And it doesn't last long, because she pushes Peggy onto her back and straddles her.

The covers fall back. The cool morning air licks Peggy's bare arms. She shivers and puts her hands on Angie's knees. They slide against the dark blue satin pajamas.

"What's your favorite part?" Angie asks, grinning, shivering a little herself. Her hair's a mess.

"Of...?"

"This. Sex. Or me."

Peggy thinks about it, even though Angie asked it jokingly. "Knowing. I like knowing things about people. I'm going to enjoy knowing what you look like naked, as soon as you are naked."

"I better get on with that then, huh?" And she starts loosening the belt of her pajama top, but Peggy's almost distracted by the weight of her, by how Peggy can feel the heat between Angie's legs on her stomach. 

Turns out Angie's not wearing anything under the pajamas. She peels off the top and shimmies out of the pants. When she sits back on Peggy's still-covered thighs her skin is all over gooseflesh but there's still one damp-hot part of her marking the fabric of Peggy's nightgown.

"There, now you know," Angie says. 

But there's knowing still to do and not much time before breakfast, before the day, so before Peggy's looked her fill she sits up and puts both hands on Angie's back and her mouth on Angie's breast. She listens with satisfaction to the sound of Angie's uneven breath, and she slides her hands downward.

Eventually Angie's fingers start to pluck at the neck of Peggy's nightgown. Peggy takes her tongue off Angie's nipple and looks up. "Come on, Peg," Angie says, her eyes big and her cheeks flushed. She slides back, clambers off of Peggy's thighs, just far enough that she can grab the hem of Peggy's nightgown and lift it up. The room's cool enough Peggy doesn't really want to take it all the way off, but she lets Angie lift it and tug down her knickers. 

"Aren't you cold?" Peggy asks.

"Yes." But she doesn't seem to want to do anything about it. She kneels between Peggy's legs. There's barely room on the single bed to spread them. One foot slips onto the floor. She runs two fingers down the centre of the hair between Peggy's legs. All the fabric of Peggy's nightgown is bunched around her waist and it makes a good handhold, something to grasp as Angie explores with her fingers. Peggy laughs a little, breathless. Her right knee jerks up when Angie slips in one wet fingertip. 

"You OK, Peg?" Angie asks. Peggy loosens her fingers around a handful of fabric. "I know how I like it, but you better tell me if I get it wrong with you."

"Not wrong," Peggy gasps, and Angie gets impatient. One finger becomes two stretching Peggy open, and she works wetness out of Peggy, slicks up her thumb and presses it to Peggy's clitoris. Peggy arches and gasp-laughs. 

"You think they're serving breakfast by now?" Angie asks casually, grinning, twisting her fingers. "All those girls with their curls and the seams on their nylons straight and their cups of coffee. Good morning, Miss Fry."

"You--" Peggy starts to say, laughing, reaching forward, breathless--but Angie's fingers slip deep with Peggy's movement and her thumb presses hard and Peggy is caught by surprise. Her body curls forward, her laughter stalls out into a not-quite-moan of air. Her hips shake, twitch, still, jerk again. 

When Peggy regains some control of her muscles she looks up at Angie. Angie looks surprised, shocked, pleased. "God, Peg, that was as good as having it myself."

"Oh, was it, though?" Peggy asks, grinning and determined. She pulls one floppy leg back onto the bed, gets it under her and kneels. She has to hold the fabric of her skirt out of the way. Under her bare knee she can feel the damp, slick spot where her hips were lying on the bed. 

Angie's wet hand is curled against her stomach; her hips look a little restless. Peggy shuffles forward and kisses her with as much force behind it as possible, slides both hands into her hair and tugs at it. It's a hunch and it pays off. Angie shudders and makes a muffled noise into Peggy's mouth. 

Peggy lays her naked, beautiful, surprising friend back on the bed, pets at the soft skin where thighs meet hipbones, lies down on her stomach and hooks her elbows over Angie's legs. 

"You gonna--put your mouth--?" Angie asks breathlessly, curling her body up to look down it at Peggy. 

"Yes. Is that something new?"

But Peggy doesn't give Angie a chance to answer before brushing some of Angie's hair up out of the way with her hand and lowering her mouth. She runs her wet lower lip up, her tongue down. She licks around the edges, mapping her way through the soft skin of Angie's vulva. Sucks at Angie's clit until Angie is thrusting against her face. Has to pause to breathe, resting her forehead in the hollow of Angie's hip and taking deep breaths of the hot damp air in the gap between her legs. 

"I'm making a mess of your bed, Peg, I can feel it." Angie slides her hips forward slightly into the wet slippery spot on the sheet. Much bigger than the wet spot Peggy made, much wetter. Peggy frees one arm and touches it; her fingers practically slide through the wetness. 

"Some of that is my saliva," Peggy says, sure of this but still impressed by how wet Angie is on her own. "I meant to do the washing this weekend anyway. May as well make it really worth it." She grins to herself and spreads Angie open with two fingers so there's room for her tongue, which slips inside so easily. Peggys' face is wet. Angie shudders again, shivers. The contrast between her cold thighs, stomach, hands, and the damp heat warming Peggy's face--it's shocking, arousing.

"I need--this is good but--more. Your fingers."

So Peggy obligingly slicks up two fingers in Angie's own wetness and works them inside her. Twists, opens her further, rocks them in and mostly out. Thinks, on a giddy moment of realization that this is really happening, that she can take another finger.

Peggy barely gets three fingers all the way inside her before she comes, rather loudly, with a wild jerk of her hips that drives Peggy's fingers just slightly deeper. Peggy hopes the neighbors have already gone down to breakfast.

Peggy draws her fingers slowly out, smooths them down the inside of Angie's thigh. The bed is soaked. God, what _time_ is it?

"Well," Angie says, limp and flat on her back."Good morning, English."

Peggy laughs.

There isn't time to talk about it. Peggy has work, Miss Fry will come looking for them if they don't show up for breakfast. Peggy lends Angie a washcloth. She puts on her dressing gown and checks that the hallway is clear before the disheveled but now dressed Angie slips back to her own room. 

It takes Peggy fifteen minutes to wash and dress. Putting on lipstick in the bathroom mirror she pauses to look at herself. She feels grounded but exhilarated, not in the least bit unsure of herself despite the lack of discussion of what they might want from each other. Her body is still thrumming under her clothes. She doesn't really want to eat breakfast, because it will mask the feeling, overpower it with food. But she has to put in an appearance. She'll be hungry later, and hungry irritability won't get her anywhere at the office.

The dining room is half empty but there's still time for eggs and toast and coffee. Peggy can tell with barely a glance that Angie isn't down yet, so she finds a seat and sits in it and picks up her fork.

Five minutes later Peggy can feel the shift of air that means someone new has entered the room. She doesn't put down the piece of toast in her hand, but she looks. 

Angie looks as pristinely turned-out as Peggy does, not a hair out of place. Something about this is arousing. Peggy tracks Angie's path to the food, the pause as she figures out where to sit. Her heels sound very loud on the floor. Peggy finishes chewing and looks up as Angie sets her plate down across the table and pulls out the chair. 

"You have to work today, English?" Angie asks. One eyebrow twitches, she's fighting off a smirk.

Peggy recognizes the question. "Yes. You?"

"Later, yeah." She picks up her own slice of toast. "You coming round the automat at dinnertime?"

"I hope so," Peggy says. First, work. There will be everyone's grief and shock over Krzeminski's death to handle. There will be the usual disrespect from the other agents. It will be unpleasant and dissatisfying, most of the time. There will be good moments. Maybe she'll get to knock out somebody who deserves it. And in the back of her mind will be this morning: easy, frankly enjoyed, sexy and comforting. Peggy smiles, promising with the smile even as she says, "I'll see how my day goes. I'm sure I'll be hungry."


End file.
